


Asterion

by Faera



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Greek Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faera/pseuds/Faera
Summary: A story told from the perspective of Asterion, the Minotaur. Monster and executioner, lost and misunderstood child.





	Asterion

_Touch the wall, feel it, memorize it. One step forward. Touch the wall again, feel it, memorize it. One more step. A gap – the corridor veered to the right. The ceiling became lower here – he had to bend to pass it. Touch the roof, feel it, memorize it. One step at a time, one piece of wall at a time. Feel it, memorize it._

It had been days, weeks, years since he last saw light. Time had no meaning down here, where the walls closed in on all sides, and darkness smothered the last remnants of his sanity.

It had not always been so. He had been cared for, once, loved as a child despite his appearance. Even in his madness, he remembered the gentle touch of a woman whose face was a blur, but whose eyes held neither the disgust or pity of all others who beheld his form. 'My shining star' she had called him, smiling.

And the others… though the other children had shied away from him, though his caretakers had never quite been able to hide their looks of disgust, still, some of them had shown him kindness. Or so he thought – the memories of that time had become as confused as the labyrinth that was now his prison, his home.

It had been his fault of course. He had never been able to understand or control his own strength and temper, which were those of a bull. He remembered little of how it had occurred; he had been bullied, perhaps, or mocked for his appearance one time too many. The image of the child though, with a look of surprise frozen on his face while his life blood leaked slowly into the ground; he could not remember his mother's face, but that child's visage was burned into his memory.

_Some moss on the wall, some water trickling in, from outside perhaps. Feel it, memorize it. Don't think about the screaming, the begging, the crying. Focus on the maze, until it becomes as familiar as…as…as the child's face. Feel it, memorize it._

They had held him in a normal prison cell for a long time. Days, weeks, years? Time had lost all meaning. 'He's too dangerous' they said, 'he's an abomination, a monster, he'll kill all our children and then all of us'. But they did not kill him. He could not speak, could not cry, but he prayed for forgiveness. When they took him out of the cell, he thought his prayers had been answered. He could not have imagined the horror that awaited him.

There had been torches, at first, in some areas. Food was dropped to him from above – he couldn't see the ceiling, but he learned the locations soon enough. Once a week, he was given some fuel for the torches, and he rationed this out sparingly. He wanted to call out to the people providing him with food, asking for news, begging for forgiveness, or just to hear a voice. But though he had the intelligence to understand speech, he did not have the throat to speak it. All that came out were grunts and roars – and the sounds of scurrying feet on cold stone.

Eventually though – time had lost all meaning – the fuel stopped coming, and then the food. At first he waited patiently, thinking they had just forgotten, or didn't have time. Later, he began to rage, to throw himself at the walls, to shout and roar at his prison. Nothing happened – no footsteps, no voices. The silence and darkness closed in around him like a physical presence, squeezing his mind.

And then, with his sanity worn down by the relentless hunger and solitude, he had heard voices, from further inside the labyrinth. Scared, small voices, lost and afraid. He thought he must be hallucinating, but he didn't care. He ran towards them, half delighted, half afraid, half delirious. His heavy footsteps echoed ominously along the walls. As he got closer, the screaming began. The sound echoed in his brain, pushing out all thought and reason.

He had killed one almost before he had even realized what he was doing. One of them had tried to attack him, a valiant attempt to protect their friends, perhaps. His horns had gored right through the child, and the smell of blood was intoxicating. While the others scattered, he drank. And then, he knew. The children were a sacrifice and he was the executioner. They would give him nothing until he completed this task, until he hunted down and killed the rest of the them. So he did.

Afterwards, when the last of the screaming had died out and the labyrinth had returned to its impenetrable silence, he sat down next to the last corpse, and cried for the first time in his life. He had not thought crying to be possible given his condition, but his despair cared not for his physical limitations. He cried for the dead, for the loss of innocence, and most of all, he cried for the future. For now he knew his purpose, his fate, and he would never escape it.

_Feel it, memorize it. Forget the voices, forget the light, forget the past, forget all the dead children he had murdered. They were in the care of Hades now, surely a place less dark and lonely than his home. Maybe it would be better to die, but he could not do it. His mind despaired at even the escape of death. He would be the executioner in the labyrinth forever._

It happened, again and again. Each time he killed, he grew more callous. He became used to the rhythm, the hunt. They were all youths, with barely enough meat on them to be worth devouring. They had no chance against his strength and his familiarity with the darkness.

In between, he explored and memorized the layout of the labyrinth, his home. He explored each turn, each dead-end, every chamber that the paths sometimes ended in. He felt and memorized every wall on every path, then every stone on every wall, then every surface on every stone, its curves, points, and cracks. When his mind was not occupied, it turned to the deaths that he had caused, the panicked voices rising in his mind, the smell of their blood, the feel of their delicate flesh and bones as they snapped open in his hands. _Feel it, memorize it._ There were still walls he had not touched, stones he had missed…

_Asterion! Asterion, can you hear me? Asterion, answer if you can hear me, please!_

A voice, different from the others, stronger, clearer, though the words were almost whispered. A female voice, almost familiar. Was it real, or just another product of his mind? They had left him without food again, and he had been expecting the sacrifices, almost craving them. This voice, however, seemed to come from above.

_Asterion, I don't have much time, the guards will be back soon. Please, there's something I have to tell you, something you must know…_

Even if it was an illusion, what more could he lose? He raised his head and cried out, the roar echoing throughout the labyrinth.

_By the Gods, I hope you can understand me. They're going to send more children to you tomorrow, it's the Athenian tributes again. Only this time, they have a warrior disguised with them. Please, please, don't try to fight him. If you do, you'll die. He'll show you the way out, if you let him, I promise._

He was stunned for a moment, the words cutting through the fog of his hunger. Dare he believe this unknown woman, this voice from the heavens? She had called him by his name, a name he had not heard for an eternity, a name he thought he had forgotten long ago. _Asterion_…the name rang pleasantly in his mind, and for a moment he forgot his pain and remembered the caress of a warm hand, the touch of soft lips to his cheeks.

_I'm so sorry I couldn't help you before. I didn't…they never told me..._

He cried out again, a glimmer of hope flaring in his chest. He was not sure if he hoped more for a rescue, or for death to be granted to him at last. Surely he did not deserve redemption for all he had done. The gods would not allow it. Even he knew this much, but still his hope could not be quenched.

_I have to go, if they catch me here everything is ruined. I know your story, I believe you're not the monster they say you are. If all goes well I will meet you soon, brother._

The last word was spoken slowly, hesitantly, but with conviction. The labyrinth returned to its silence, but in his mind it rang with the woman's voice and the promise of redemption, of hope, of _family_.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a from a sudden inspiration sort of thing, and while I had originally intended to write until at least the escape from Crete was completed, it might be better to just leave that part as ambiguous? Like, maybe he escapes with Theseus and Ariadne, or maybe Theseus kills him after all? I don't even know :P


End file.
